


only revolutions

by Private_Applesauce



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M, Light Angst, Mythology - Freeform, Persephone & Hades - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Private_Applesauce/pseuds/Private_Applesauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>—eyes dark and ashen cold; the warmth he lacked and the lies he told (aka that au where the fairy tail are gods and goddesses of Olympus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fallen bridges

**Author's Note:**

> a.n. I just can’t huhu. I’m merely basing them on the gods but not necessarily following each myth. Laxus is based on Zeus, Jellal is based from Prometheus, Evergreen based on Hera, Lisanna is based on Persephone, Bixlow is Hades, Levy is Athena, Mirajane is based Demeter, and I’ll name the others as we go along.

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In the beginning, before Adam fluttered his eyes open; before the old gods could release their first breathe, there was nothing but a void. There was only a vast emptiness that stretched on through the whole space. 

Soon then, the foundation of the universe was created by the wicked titans. And from evil and malice came the most beautiful of all. Like a flower welcoming the dawn, the universe blossomed into existence. It was through the agony and the suffering that one could create beauty; like the grapes before it turned to wine.

Still chaos came no latter, and when the Titans were overthrown by the first of gods; and the first of gods of their wicked children, only did the peace came about and light basked the universe once again. The wicked children now the old gods drew lots and divided the universe, to give order and harmony to those they would rule upon.

Now with no more chaos, life bloomed in the universe and mankind began to grow. But not ultimately until the sly Titan, Jellal, stole the same light that basked the universe and gave it to mankind; sharing the secrets of the gods to the lowly mortals.

And prosper they did, leaving the angry gods on their wake. And while all these came upon, Bixlow sat on his throne, cold and desolate in his kingdom beneath the earth. The god watched as faith and foundations crumbled down and welcomed those who had fallen into his kingdom.

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His sharp nose and almost alluring voice had etched itself upon her memory. The first time her eyes graced him she knew she’d never forget the man. She was a child back then. She was barely capable of writing her own name, and saying more than three syllables without a child’s phonation.

_“Greetings, brother of mine,” His voice is jolly, mocking even. There is a grin carved on his lips as if it had been there all along. There is a short dark laugh, and everyone is quiet. He looks around from beneath his armor mask, and thus starts to walk into the realms of life; but not before sending the plants and shrubs of Olympus withering. Every step he takes sent the flowers to wilt; bowing to him in his unyielding grace. He looks pleased; his lips turn into a tight smile._

She had never seen him before. So she had stared openly at the distant god. She remembered the strong built of the man, gracing himself in so much ease. He wore large coat that swept the floor behind him, and royal violet covered every inch of him. He held a scepter upon his hand twirling it playfully in his fingers, and then there was a soulful blue gem perking on top of it. He looked almost in par with the celebrations; so grand, so glamorous, so arrogant. Everyone had parted to give him enough space to walk—even too much at some point. She remembered the hush tones of those around; exchanging glances of those wielding a weapon. Then she remembered her sister, making her turn away from the man.

_The spirits and nymphs give way, the gods hold onto their weapons tight within reach. He doesn’t spare them a glance, as if too calloused of their actions. The whispers start, arising in one person and growing exponentially. They whisper their fears; and he feeds upon them only slightly. But his eyes are straightforward, watching Laxus’ relax composure pull back into a drawn position. He has his own suspicions. But his eyes sway uncaringly upon the throne beside his, and onto the queen at his side. The jealous queen of the living, Evergreen watches them in silence. There is a smile threatening to break upon her lips, but she holds it in._

But Lisanna couldn’t, because she was but a curious child. So she stared as the man swept into an exaggerated bow over towards the God King. He looked so strong even before the giant of the man. He had expressed no adoration or even fear towards Laxus; not at all. She remembered the coldness that swept over her body. She could see everyone visibly stiffen as his footsteps took a halt. His eyes were mysterious orbs of bright green, burning into the gaps of his armor’s mask.

_“I’m glad you could make it, brother,” Evergreen says, her voice soft almost endearing. ”Bixlow, it has been a long—“She is silenced by Laxus’ glare, cruel and almost challenging. The temperature rises significantly and it does not go unnoticed. Yet Lisanna notices something all but a child should notice, the look in the King’s eyes was a look torn in both betrayal and of a cornered beast willing itself to give off bravery._

The man, Evergreen had then addressed as _Bixlow_ ; whom was often called in other names such as Ago; the one who takes away everything, _Clymenus_ ; the notorious, _Polydegmon_ ; the one who received many, _Pluton_ ; the wealthy or perhaps _Hades_. He was the same god in the bedtime stories. He was the same god that tormented little humans, and godlings alike. He was that wickedness that roamed the ends of the earth and Olympus in their slumber so deep. He was the inevitable death.

_“Brother, Ago, it is very gracious of you to visit my humble abode,” there is nothing humble to the feast at all. There is only their grand celebrations, music, songs, dances, and brightness; light basking ceaseless pile of meals. But still Laxus insists to say so. “I hope it is to your liking,” he adds as he gestures arrogantly upon his wife. Evergreen doesn’t speak. She sits there still, awaiting her turn to speak. The goddess is always haughty; always, but this time. There is gentleness in her eyes, so seldom seen. On the other hand, there is a hint of malice in the sky ruler’s voice, but nothing more._

“Lisanna, turn away, it is known never to look upon the ruler of the underworld’s face,” someone whispered. It had been so hard to do so. But she did, and turned to the one who spoke. Levy stood beside her, big ebony eyes staring into her soul searching and curious. “You know better than to question this.” _Did she?_ Lisanna was not sure she did.

_“How very cruel not to call me by my very name, brother” Bixlow says mirthfully. But his clutch upon his scepter tightens faintly. Nobody notices, not even Laxus himself. His grin widens and his eyes glow brighter from beneath his helmet. How very cruel it was for his younger brother to call him the one who takes away all; all but the one thing he ever wanted._

“Bix—“Mirajane had covered her mouth before she could finish, a look of fear and disbelief crossing her face. At that moment, Lisanna understood just how treacherous it was to say his name. “Should you say it, it shall summon _Clymenus_ before us; right before us,” the threat was clear as the light glowing beneath her skin, and everything that was spoken in whispers in the dead of the night returned to Lisanna. Slowly she began to fear.

_There is a story hidden beneath their short exchange yet no one seems to know of it. Coldness sweeps in the halls again; Laxus’s bright warmth dying so quickly as Bixlow honors him a low bow once again. “I had come to pay my respects to the king and queen of the heavens.”_

She still doesn’t know much about him other than the bedtime stories. He had not graced the gods and mortals with his presence since the last time Lisanna had seen him. It did not take to call upon Levy’s knowledge to know his presence was unwelcomed by both mortal and god. But there are whispers, always whispers from the court ladies, from the nymphs and those alike. All these years, centuries, eons; and her as a goddess, she had always and always believed their words. He was evil, cunning, and could never merit a place among the gods and the living. He was the agony brought forth by death, he was the inescapable destiny of all those who breathe and roam the earth.

There were always tales; most of them vivid, and different from one another. The earlier accounts were long lost, the candor of the stories spoken by tongue blurred between the annals of the God King himself. Yet not one could actually portray the man beneath the mask. There were those that say he sported the mask to hide his vile appearance. Or that he could not actually remove the mask at all. Perhaps that the visor was a powerful amulet of the sort.

Nevertheless he was _wicked_ , that was all they said that was consistent to one another. Years later, she could always guess they were but assumptions of the ignorant. Lisanna had grown old enough to understand the world, and its cruelty.


	2. least we forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freed was always away, but when he was with them, he had always sang for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.n. Hello, lovely reader. Let me introduce you to Freed whom I have based upon Apollo, Gajeel is based off from Ares, Cobra or Erik of the Oracion Seis based on Thanatos, Happy is based from Hermes. Cookies to those who guessed who are inside Freed’s story. There is a hint of Natsu and Lisanna here.

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There was one story, Lisanna had loved so much. She was not even aware as to why she did so. It was back to the day that Freed would sit with the children and tell those tales with his melodious voice. Freed was always away, but when he was with them, he had always sang for them. His voice would caress and embrace genuine tales, so unlike those told by the gods. The tales forged from his very memories itself.

It goes on in lyrical tenor of Freed’s voice and his harp accompanying the sadness. She’d find herself feeling the sadness before the god would even start to sing. It was the story of the first love’s tragedy; it was a story of how a mere affair shook the foundations of Olympus. It was a tale the little godlings had asked for almost specifically. During these times, the Old Gods would leave them be as they drown in the Freed’s unadultered songs.

It starts off with with a titan, and a goddess whom he never named even when he would retell the story. The Titan god, eons old, serving beneath the God King as he was pardoned of all his other siblings sins. In his servitude he met the young godling whom was completely taken by him. Perhaps he was as well taken by her, but Freed never told his side of the story. He was the cold Titan God who served before the God King and swore allegiance to him. And just that.

 _He was beautiful_ , Freed told them. And day by day, the little godling grows even more dazzled by him. And day by day, she also grows more and more of a goddess she ought to be. Suitors from here and there come to her, but not one ever struck her the same way as the distant Titan God.

Lisanna could feel familiarity cripple in her chest. She knew it all too well but she didn’t want to admit it.

Finally the Titan God seemed to have noticed, but not enough to do anything rather spectacular. He made short talks with her, regarding little things, barely significant ones. But the young goddess was too taken by him to care. Being beside him had been enough for her.

Only to use her to know how to get through the kingdom of her father; only to learn from her the most hidden secrets of the gods; only to give it to the mankind that drew nothing but terrible things upon each other.

And how so cruel had been the Titan God, forging the secrets of the gods to mankind and leave the goddess miserable for his treachery. All in the while, Olympus shook in rage for his treachery; the very foundations of the Olympus questioning why had they even allowed a titan to be one of them? And so he fell down to his _beloved_ mortals; into the earth with a smile etched upon his lips. 

_Had he truly loved her? Had he only used her?_ Freed never answered, only responding with a sad smile. He would tell them there was no telling. Lisanna knew nothing of what went in the mind of the Titan God; he was far too arrogant; far too drenched in his ambitions. Idly she found herself thinking about Natsu all of a sudden. Too arrogant, too drenched in his ambitions. But it wasn’t unexpected; he god of fire, and craft. He was forged to create, to bring with him the wrath and power of the volcanoes.

She was old enough to marry, and had been long promised to Natsu. She was to marry him, as they had promised in their youth. Even so, it didn’t feel right. There was emptiness inside her, whether because of the song Freed sang or perhaps the marriage that was about to take place. She shifted in her seat, eyes staring into the space, and thinking of the song.

What was to tell Natsu would not go fly off to his ambitions and leave her? Nothing of course. The young goddess never knew of the Titan God’s betrayal; holding upon the hope that when he sided with Laxus, he had sworn his whole life into allegiance. But perhaps that was the beauty of trust. She would never know if he would break her trust or not. Yet it made it sweeter if he chose not to.

“You are telling these godlings of this nonsense?” came a teasing mock from behind them. Freed had stopped in midway, the last string he plucked resonating alone. He was not smiling anymore, as he glared upon the uninvited guest. The young gods turned towards the voice, only to find Death himself standing behind them, guided by Happy.

He stood there in his unsightly appearance; his huge wings folded behind him were deep red like fresh splattered blood; his eyes sharp like a snake’s. Upon his hand was a dying torch and a golden snake amulet slithering over his upper arm. There was a scar upon one of his eyes, as if indicating mortality that shouldn’t be. He was ghastly human. But at the same time he seemed too perfect of a mortal. He appeared to be forged solely as an old scratched container instead of a man, but still terribly beautiful in a way.

“Don’t say that!” Happy exclaimed scandalized by the daemon’s impudence. He was a mere creation of a god, barely any higher than a man if not immortal. “You are in the realm of the living!” the blue cat reminded, crossing his small arms over his chest.

“Erik, I assure you that your father would disagree. If anything he knows what I sing of,” Freed’s reply was cold and firm, holding so much authority to the man before him.

“My name is Cobra, and you are not to call me otherwise, as you are no higher than who you call as my father,” there was a promise of rage in his voice, but his face betrayed nothing of it. Coldness assaulted them, as he stepped forward leaving a trembling Happy, who by now had realized how terribly powerful the Underworld’s daemon was.

There was tension in the air, as the godlings back away from the guest. All afraid to be fetched by him, because it was known that he was the harbinger of the Underworld’s ruler himself. The god of art stood, his warmth covering the trembling scared godlings gently. His skin had lighted from beneath, glowing into a familiar comfort. There was no room for death in the realms of life.

“What brought you here?” Freed inquired his voice careful, even, but not scared. He knew of his strength. But there was no need for unnecessary violence; there was no need to summon Gajeel. What so much harm could this daemon’s arrogance cost?

Lisanna found herself frozen on the spot, remembering the _father_ they address of. The man walking in the halls, in deep violet robes, glamorously dressed with a scepter at hand, crossed her mind. His sharp features hidden beneath the mask, green eyes glowing viciously in the gaps of his visor, and his alluring voice echoed in her ears; the god who fed upon the fears and tears of men and gods alike.

“Bixlow,” he started, earning a gasp from the godlings even Lisanna herself. His name was a curse; his name was never to be uttered unless he was to be summoned; his name was a taboo to the living realms. Cobra as Death had proclaimed his name to be, stared in absolute annoyance at the godlings before continuing. “He has called upon the audience of the great god of art and poetry.” Cobra drawled before sweeping into a low mocking bow.

Lisanna frowned as the man walked away, chin out and proud, his wings drooped against the floor lazily, yet graceful like his creator. Even so as a container of a mere soul, the man had life within him; _life_ that was strange but not completely dreadful. There was no blood running in his veins; he was not human; he was vicious, empty, and filled with anguish. Lisanna knew he was forged in the darkness, created from the longing, solitude, and suffering. He was made out of clay and bones of those who drowned down beneath the earth. However the air he breathes was not vile and still there was a heart within him, strangely so. He was hollow with only a soul and a heart. But how could that be?

She knew this much, as the designer of life itself; and fertility of the lands. Perhaps, _his_ creator was more _humane_ than she or anyone had ever thought.


	3. forged in darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idly, Mirajane wondered just how much she was willing to give to keep the order in their realms; just how much should be taken away from her to keep the order in their realms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.n. Reminders; Mirajane is based off on Demeter. Helios is referring to Sting, while Minerva is Eris (haha the irony).

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There is a long lingering look in Mirajane’s eyes when she sat beside her. Her pout lips were curled in a frown. Her sister always smiled. Always. She was as warm as the sun; like a gentle Helios. Everyone loved her, and perhaps there are also those who loathed her. Mirajane’s beauty was next to none. It would not be too much arrogance if she was to claim the title of the fairest of them all. Because it was true; one of the many reasons that many loved and loathed her.

But right now, she was but an imitation of her former self; a shell of the beauty she ought to be. Hair ruffled and dark bags hanging under her eyes, Lisanna knew something had happened; whether between her and Laxus or perhaps politics with other gods, Lisanna could not be certain.

“Do you remember,” she started her voice cold and haunting. She stared into her sister’s eyes, searching and weary. “Do you remember that little old rhyme?” Mirajane’s voice echoed throughout the halls.

“There are many rhymes, Mirajane, “ Lisanna did not intend to disappoint her but she could not help it at times. She was just not as perfect as her sister perhaps. And she hated those rhymes; they twisted her tongues into words and things; tricking deeds and those alike. She wasn’t fond of those especially spoken by her teachers.

The older took a deep breath, running her fingers through the length of her hair. For a moment she looked away from her as if pondering. “Eyes dark,” she spoke suddenly. Her voice still as echoing and haunting as she came; recognition immediately flickered in Lisanna’s eyes. “And ashen cold.”

“The warmth he lacked,” Lisanna added, Happy now sleeping unattended as her full attention was brought to the elder. Mirajane was staring elsewhere; her gaze was distant as if she was not there with Lisanna at all.

“And the lies he told,” they both finished together in some sick unison. It was those rhymes that little godlings like her whisper at night, to remind themselves of the true nature of those forged in the dark. Mirajane had whispered it to her when Minerva had graced her presence in the halls of the gods; when Bixlow attended their banquet; when Cobra waltzed in the realms of the living. Beings forged in darkness were not always vile to human eyes, or even gods for that matter.

Sometimes, they were horribly beautiful.

Mirajane looked pale, her eyes reflected eternal sadness. There was longing, tears threatening to fall. She seemed to be a mere shell of her former self. Lisanna should be worried, but she had seen Mirajane in the same state before. It had been Laxus that time, and probably Laxus this time.

Freed’s harp echoed from afar. He was playing a sad tune, as if telling another tragedy that was about to befall upon a poor soul. Lisanna looked down at Happy who had now mewed happily on her lap. She could only so far wish it was not Natsu, as he always had the tendency to call upon the God King’s wrath.

Mirajane stared upon her sister, holding back tears. She had never questioned prophecies; she accepted them with open arms, because they were bound to happen even if she had not wanted them to. She could only hold it up as much as she could ever. Lisanna’s hand scratching Happy’s head gently, her thoughts somewhere Mirajane could not reach.

The little old rhyme dying in oblivion even after they whispered it. 

Idly, Mirajane wondered just how much she was willing to give to keep the order in their realms; just how much should be taken away from her to keep the order in their realms.

_Just how much?_


	4. the burnished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sting is based on Helios. I have come to realize that every chapter of this fic is not completely connected in a strict chronological order. HAHA. So yeah, Sting will get a little involved someday.

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“Lisanna,” a smooth voice cooed. Many loved Lisanna, although not as much as her sister. Those who knew Lisanna loved her dearly; and cherished her dotingly. Sting was no different, as he stood in front of her, freshly plucked lilies in his hand. There was that smile that made nymphs, mortals, and gods alike swoon over.

His skin was slightly glowing from beneath, a tell-tale of a god. His bright blonde hair could rival Laxus’ and toothy grin so closely familiar to Natsu’s. He was beautiful in his own rogued way. His stand was far too arrogant; unadultered conceit leveling as high as Olympus itself, but his smile was endearing.

The proud and arrogant Helios, Sting of the Sun.

Lisanna could have swooned along if she had been any younger. But she was no young godling anymore; no longer too thick or too stupid for the realm. Although clearly drawn towards his very being as a god who was the light and giver of life, she knew there was something deceitful in all his sweet charming smile. She could see beyond what was shown to her. Still she smiled back as sweetly, accepting the flowers he had given her. “Good evening, Sting. Isn’t it early for you to be here?”

Her eyes didn’t leave his for the entirety of the conversation, even as she plucked the stems from his hand. Lisanna found herself searching into his eyes, searching some passion; some light within him.

“We are past equinox, my dear, my reign upon the skies is now shorter,” he answered back easily. He looked at her with pure adoration in his eyes as if she was the God Queen herself; but there was unnecessary conceit in it. Perhaps there was a time where she thought Sting had been actually come to love her. But now she knew better.

Sting was consumed with darkness. There was no light within him; he was like a burning torch, so bright but rotting and withering at the same time. He burned and burned, but the people could only sense the warmth and light. Crumbling into ashes and scattering in the ends of the earth was his rage and revenge. It was so strong, that it had to be divided so equally not to cause any more destruction than the droughts he brought.

However, even as vindictive Titan blood runs within his veins and vile breath of his true nature, Sting adored Natsu and his folly. Perhaps it had been Natsu’s recklessness that drew him to the godling or perhaps it was mere coincidence.

And all the while, Lisanna is left in the middle. She was the link of understanding that Sting wanted to have. Sometimes, she finds herself thinking ill of it, but sometimes she knew there was not much malice in it. Sting and Natsu; they were children even with all their wrath and power, their godliness that could destroy the universe together. They were children both in search for something.

Sting found his in Natsu. They were the same, they drew in disaster; but they were not entirely alike. Natsu carried a bright light within him; unfalse warmth that shone indiscriminately above all. While Sting drew pretense and false smiles; Natsu wore the most genuine of them all.

They were both strong and cruel; but Natsu strained himself not to. And perhaps that was why Sting had loved Natsu; and adored him like a child. He was the slight restraint of power that made such the difference. Sting found comfort in Natsu’s restrained strength; he yearned to be just like him.

“Hmm,” she hummed quietly, eyes now straying to the flowers in her fingers. All the while, Lisanna had learned to balance the two. The wail of darkness within Sting and the warmth of light Natsu carried within himself. “Have you come to see Natsu? I am afraid he had gone to dance among the mortals for the festival.”

“I do hope he has not summoned the God king’s wrath again.” Sting tilted his head, an intelligent spark crossing his face. She was a mystery to Sting, she knew. _How could the gentle godling of fertility ever be with the reckless destruction of fire?_ It was as clear as day upon his face. The question spoke louder on his countenance than it being said.

“I intended to talk to you however,” he spoke quietly. There was the same look Mirajane had worn before. She had seen somewhere as well, from when Freed would look at Mirajane, or that time Elfman had taken a glance at the God Queen. But she was not certain what it was.

She gave a light nod, pretending not to notice the look that crossed his eyes. And thus, he sat with her, discussing minor matters in the sky. The argument with the clouds, and with the Moonbearer himself. And she entertained him, sighting a few points of her own, patiently waiting for him to bring up the real reason of his dilemma.

“What do you think about the creations forged in the darkness?” he inquired with quite a sounding curiosity in his voice. “Aren’t they vile?” He added a playful mirth in his voice. But there was something on the tip of his tongue that he did not say any further off.

“Is this due to your strife with the herald of death that happened quite recently?” Lisanna was not curious, as she had heard of it far too many times whispered along the halls. There was tension between Cobra, as Death calls himself, and the Titan-kin, Sting.

“You think too low of me!” he cried, as if it had been a joke. There is a smile upon his lips but only barely. “It was a general question. I’ve been pondering lately. What I am trying to say is that, aren’t they a perverse of the life you have created? Don’t you think of it like that?”

“I do not think that they are vile,” she replied, but not elaborating any further. If there had been anything vile, it would not be them; but the chains of anguish that was forever latched upon the strange life that made them breathe. Lisanna found herself pondering over the pictures of the daemons and all those creatures forged in darkness.

Minerva was beautiful but full of deceit, not any different from Sting if she was allowed to say. But she also released an air of seclusion around her. Minerva was a goddess nonetheless so she made no better comparison. The picture of Cobra came in mind; Sting and Cobra’s short lived strife that enraged Olympus and the equality of their strength. He was a perfect example perhaps. He was an empty container filled with anguish and wrath; despicable almost if not for a heart within him. His life although not entirely false; it was strange. “Peculiar, perhaps,” and she said softly. Yet Sting replied with only silence, as he sat good-naturedly beside her.

“I am very fond of you,” he said finally. “You are warm without deceit; genuine and sweet. The way you see the world and those who roam around it; it’s very endearing.” He did not look at her, eyes straying anywhere but her. There was the unspoken message, _‘I want to be like you’_ but Lisanna heard it even so.

“You flatter me,” she responded humoring him, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “It is quite a disappointment that you are to marry Natsu so soon,” he added quickly with a sigh.

“What are you implying?” she asked all so gently. But Lisanna never got his answer as he stood and began to walk away from her.

Looking over his shoulder, Lisanna saw it again. There was that same look in his eyes, but this time Lisanna realized it was not meant for her; but something beyond her instead. He had meant to talk to someone else; who was beyond Lisanna but at the same time was her all along. “Please do not rot, Lisanna, for me. That is all I ask of you. I think I have suffered enough of it.”

“Sting?” Confusion struck the goddess as she jumped on her feet in an attempt to follow him. But she found herself stuck in the same position. There was something dark and deep stopping her; agony that she cannot comprehend. The darkness in Sting was incomparable to anything she had ever known. Bright and stunning, he may be, but his darkness could pierce any soul. He was the shadow that carried the light; for when there was light, darkness was sure to follow.

“Have you ever seen something _so very_ sweet; _so very_ beautiful, rot from within? Have you ever lost something you could not stop no matter how powerful you are?”


	5. old deus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bixlow is based on Hades. And Lisanna on Persephone herself.

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Lisanna jolted violently when she heard the voice from behind her. “This land is barren; this land _was_ barren,” it came again, voice cold and calculating. She whipped to the source of the voice, finding its owner standing carelessly behind. As he stepped forward, she found his steps precise and careful which he masked by feigned careless indifference. Contrary to his appearance at the banquet of the gods which had been loud and gaudy, he had no presence at all.

But he was after all the god of death; like death itself he may come flashy and loud, or he may come quiet and peaceful. There were many ways for the _end_ to come. Quiet, loud, or however. Yet even so Lisanna was still unmoving. She watched him with her vibrant blue eyes, studying the god who stood at the tips of balance of the universe.

 _Pluton_ of the Underworld; he was the crux of the old gods. His presence was the very epitome of the wicked children of the ancient sins; dark, cold, cruel and cunning. The air he breathed was heavy, and suffocating. However, the coldness that he eternally carried with him was intoxicating. Lisanna realized that she was falling dizzy; coldness coaxing her to sweet slumber.

But before she could close her eyes, he spoke again. “Did you give it life?”

She did. But she could not find the voice to tell him so. She could not see his eyes, as he had worn his visor. There was only blinding darkness in the gaps. The god did not seem to mind her insolent silence however. Instead, he turned around seemingly studying the surrounding. Lisanna sat there before him, frozen on the spot the flower crown she intended to make withering in her hands before she knew it.

“I will not harm you. I am simply here for a visit,” he stated calmly when he had done his observations. Again, she found herself with no voice, and no strength to speak. She felt so weak, like the withering flowers on her lap. And lightheaded, as coldness seeped in her soul, “Open your eyes.” She had not even realized that she had closed her eyes.

Eyes shooting wide open; Lisanna woke up from what had seemed to be a dream. But it wasn’t. The god of dead; ruler of the Underworld still stood in his dark splendor next to her. His was voice hard and unwielding; cold and demanding. All the life and warmth inside Lisanna stirred awake from what had been a deep slumber.

She had never felt so alive; not until death himself had come upon right next to her.

However, death still stood before her. And Lisanna tried not to shake, of the very idea of the soulless man in front of her. ‘ _Eyes dark and ashen cold,_ ’ she whispered in her head. ‘ _The warmth he lacked and the lies he told._ ’ Sometimes those forged in darkness were the beauty beyond belief.

She must not be charmed.

“Designer of life, beautiful child,” he whispered lowly, as he leaned down towards her figure. “I hope you do not fall into the hopeless night, aren’t you a deathless child?”

She nodded, but still recoiling. He was death and she was life. He brought end to those she had designed. He brought suffering to those she had loved. And in the realms of the living, he was not welcomed that of which they both knew. He did not belong here; not in this plain full of life. He struck out, being the only darkness even in the shade of the night. The man was darker than the night itself.

Seemingly noticing the withered flower crown, the man held his hand above her lap; so close yet untouching.

From the distance of them now, she could see beyond the gaps of his visor. It would be a lie if Lisanna was to say it did not take all of her to look away. Vibrant light glowed from the palms of her hand, and before she could even say anything, the soulless god was backing away from her. He was now distant as quick as he had come so close. There was a smile etched on his lips, softness she did not know he had. But like how he had come so close and distant so quickly, his smile was gone as soon as it came.

Looking beneath her hand, she found a crown made of precious stones. A splendid arrangement of bones enough to create an image of a crown, and precious stones embedded upon them. It was a crown fitting for an empress. Lisanna gasped. Looking up immediately at the old god, eyes curious and yet afraid.

She did not want to acknowledge it however; there was a great feeling of pride and vanity that flooded her chest. Surely a dainty gift should not make her heart sway. But it did. Lisanna was horribly infatuated with the dark god, whether she admit it or not. The very recognition the old god had given to her had her on her toes, and the very little gift for all it’s worth.

‘ _Eyes dark,_ ’ she thought so hardly. ‘ _And ashen cold,_ ’ if only the charm would work when she had needed it most. Her heart was not fluttering as she had initially thought, but it was warm and beating loudly upon her ears.

‘ _Hearts struck and all so bold._ ’

“If I may speak,” she said, her voice unfaltering, yet devoid of any warmth she thought she had. “Why is the god of death lingering amongst this realm?” Lisanna never knew she could be so brave; she could be so bold. She did not even know why she even dared to speak at all. She held her breath as soon as she had realized the weight of her words. Eyes turning away immediately, she prepared herself for whatever strike he might inflict upon her. All but her life, she hoped. She shut her eyes, willing to endure her punishment.

But nothing came but his words. “As I’ve said,” he said, a smile seemingly lacing his words. “I am simply here to visit.” Lisanna made no move to humor him. She was only grateful that he had not struck her for her insolence. “Ah—you place me in a pedestal too high for your sake, godling. I am not as omnipotent as you think I am.” 

“Of course, you could not design life,” she murmured meekly to herself, so low that he could have missed it. But he did not.

“Yes, there is that. And there is _the_ oblivion, rainbows and giggles,” he replied casually waving his hand, now playful and loud. The air around lifted into a more festal one. He was moving, his steps loud and alarming. There was recklessness in it, which he had not worn a moment ago. “But there is too,” he continued voice light, a joke sparking into it. “The ties of fate that I cannot create nor destroy, there are ties between souls that I have no power over with.”

“In every lifetime, in the flooding river of souls, there are those whose ties even death cannot break. You must understand that even as I break those you design, I cannot separate them forever. I only give them a moment’s separation. They will find their way back to each other. The ties of the souls; bonds of their souls.”

 _Ties of the soul._ Lisanna had heard of it ones and she had so immediately been sure hers and Natsu’s are tied together the moment she had seen the boy although they were gods and not mere mortals. _She had been so convinced._ She blinked, turning slightly to him. She did not understand. _Why was he telling her this?_

“I take one from the pair earlier and leave the other alone; but they would die later. But then in the next lifetime, they meet again. I have no power over them meeting—that is one of the inevitable things aside from death.”

It intrigued her nonetheless, she figured. Whatever underlying meaning he was trying to tell her, she did not actually care. She was perhaps curious as to what even death could not break. “But that only works on the creations such as men. For they are the only souls that go on with the cycle of life and death, they are the only ones who die. We gods are deathless.”

For it was said, that men were created with two pairs of arms and legs. But the gods afraid that they would rise to power; the gods disgusted by their hideous form; the gods fearing that they would rebel against them; for whatever reason, broke them into two parts. And they roamed the earth searching for their other pair. That was the only concept she knew.

“To everything that there’s life, there is also a soul. Those forged in darkness are the only exception; we are a completely different circumstance.”

“So you do not have a soul.” He laughed, and she winced. But his laugh was hearty and full of life it was almost implausible for someone _dead_. There were many things that Lisanna wanted to ask. But there was too little time. There were many things she wanted to know. But he was too far away.

“Or perhaps our souls could no longer continue the cycle; the _revolution_ for it has long lost itself in the limbo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened was that I broke Kamui (my laptop). So I just got a new one and all the other chapters that I forgot to post in [ tumblr](http://thebearchief.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic)


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